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Friday, April 16, 2010

So we've been posting Microfiction every day in the Kill Sarah Already! group, and for those of you who are not yet members, here they are. They really do give you a good view of the One Eighteen post apocalyptic setting (plus we get to remember favorite characters.) If you want these every day, join the group or the twitter, but I'll throw them up in groups like this so nobody misses anything who doesn't. It's not intended to read as the awesomest Season Three trailer ever, a lot of these are slices of life and loose ends, so don't read too much into this :) But it does read like an awesome movie trailer.

Decker walked the lonesome road, Fen at his side. The wolfhound waged it's dead tail lazily. He felt him coming. Andre. No talking to this one; the waves of hatred flowed between them. He came over the top of the hill; a huge black man in a suit, carrying a machete. "You gonna play me a tune," Andre shouted. Decker smiled, dropping a lead pipe out of his coat sleeve. "When I'm done with you," the bard replied.

Big Mike cried beside the road, tears and fluids dripping from his eye socket. "Mr., why are you crying?" a tiny voice said. He felt a girl's hand encircle his. He wiped his eye. "You can come with me," the little girl said. "We need to go south." He nodded. "No more moping! Mama White is waiting for us!" He frowned and pointed to her. "Oh... my name. I'm Cordelia. My name has always been Cordelia."

Malachi bled. "You know, the bitch seat is really only designed for one bitch," Jack said, trying his best to keep Doris steady with all the extra weight. "There's really a doctor in KC?" Justin said, applying pressure as best he could while trying to hold Malachi on the bike. "Yeah, a veterinarian. But she's really good." Malachi groaned. "Hold on, babe." Justin whispered.

"Son of a bitch," Jackson Tate said, looking through the scope of his rifle. Newports. A full god-damned pack of Newports in the dead thing's shirt pocket. But in the middle of so many. Still... the foil was in tact. He aimed at the dead thing's feet and fired a shot. He blew off it's toe. It growled and broke from the pack. "That's it... a little closer..." Fuckin Newports.

John Hawkins wouldn't cry. Even when they tied him to the watchtower. Even when Horace forced the pin of his tin deputies star through his forhead. He just watched the crowd sadly. "Any last words, son?" Horace said, putting a pistol to the side of his head. "Yes... God's gonna cut you down," Hawkins said quietly. Horace pulled the trigger.

Sarah's stepfather entered her bedroom, and she tried not to cry. She put in her earbuds and turned on Paradise Falls 61.3 FM, sliding the volume to the maximum. She felt her bedsheets rustle. The music changed as she felt his hand on her. The alarm clock read 1:20 AM. "Don't worry, you'll have your revenge," the radio whispered. "They'll all die soon." Sarah smiled. Outside, the gunshots started.

"Here they come," Horace said, putting out his camel on the trunk of the Judas tree. The Valentine brothers shouldered their rifles. Ricky Benson did the same, but hesitantly. Horace picked up his Winchester, and made sure it was loaded. Below them, the line of the Greenly expedition passed. There would never be a better chance than this. "Let em have it boys," Horace said. The deputies opened fire.

Willie Fetch flipped the beer bottle over and over in his hand, trying to catch it by the neck every time. One of Tarantino's movies played on the flat-screen. Valentine and the boys wandered down the stairs, trying to look non nonchalant. Fetch rolled his eyes. "Horace send you down?" "Yup," Valentine said lazily. "We're gonna wreck the play room," Fetch said, catching the bottle. "Yup," Valentine said.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

First and formost, as we ramp up for Season Three we're going to be looking for a LOT of voice actors/actresses/recappers etc. We're holding an indefinate open casting call (See the page above for details.) While the form/file seems like a pain in the ass, what you're doing is getting yourself into a great big book, and you'll be auditioning for every part we EVER cast, One Eighteen, Interim, Recaps, Etc. We're going to make a document so as Aaron casts he can very quickly figure out where we can use who.

There are going to be a LOT of new characters Season Three, and Season Four is in the concept stage for next year. So for 10 minutes of work once, you're on the list forever.

Secondly, we're working with two fantastic indy creators to do some One Eighteen work while we're plugging away getting Season Three ready.

Julie Hoverson, the sound goddess behind the EXCEPTIONAL 19 Nocturne Boulevard is going to produce a One Eighteen audio drama I wrote called "Snapshots" dealing with the characters Demitri Decker journey from survivor to controller/Sarah's mother Mary, and their relationship in the context of her sexually abusive stepfather, and Donna as Professor Parks lures her into his trap. It's a very cool script, fast moving, action packed, and... you know what? Let me just throw up the beginning.

One Eighteen: Snapshots

Sarah's Stepfather

Get away from that fucking TV, Mary. For Christ sake their ain't nothing on it but static.

Sarah

Don't mind him, momma. You watch whatever you want.

Sarah's Stepfather

Girl you'd better shut your mouth or I'll-

Sarah

Fuck me again?

Sarah's Stepfather

You watch your tone with me.

Sarah

Oh really?

-------

Demitri Decker

I got no truck with you, girl.

Woman's Voice

Oh, but you do. You're in my way.

Demitri Decker

Well why don't I just mosey off to the side here.

Woman's Voice

You serve him too. You follow the wolf. So you're in my way.

Demitri Decker

How bout you put the bat down and we talk about this. Seriously, I'm just here to play music.

--------

Donna

Professor Parks, I want to thank you for your hospitality.

Mike

Seriously, Donna and I are so thankful for this. With Mike Junior on the way, well-

Donna

Honey! I'm just late! Don't get overexcited.

Professor Parks

(Darkly) Every child is a blessing, wouldn't you agree Courtney.

Courtney

(Almost robotic.) Yes Professor.

Professor Parks

A toast then! To survivors, and the new bonds we must forge!

Mike, Donna, Tracy, Courney

Here, here!

Professor Parks

I hope you don't mind sleeping in the garage, Mike. It's a religious thing, I hope you understand.

Donna

Of course professor!

-------

Sarah

See, I'm thinking it's about time for me to use any tone I damn well feel like it.

Sarah's Stepfather

Mary, you gonna let your daughter talk to me like that?

Mary

All the colors... her dress has so many colors.

Sarah

Isn't she pretty mama. We don't have to be scared anymore.

Sarah's Stepfather

Botha you need to be in a nuthatch, that's what you need!

Mary

(Childlike) Not scared... anymore?

Sarah

(Motherly) No mama... not anymore. Pick up the knife.

Mary

The knife?

Sarah

That's a good girl.

Sarah's Stepfather

Now you put that down, woman or I swear to christ I'll-

I really love playing with "minor" characters. Anyway, this will be done in under a month, knowing Julie.

We've also got two new one shot's coming together, our fan fiction contest entries, and one more thing.

A comic book.

Ben Hummel did this piece of fan fiction for us, and there was something so cool about the art style. I have to admit, I'm a major fan of the "Sketch pencil style of artwork.

So I said, "Ben, you draw me two iconic characters, and we'll work from there." A few days later I received the following image with a pitch for an opening story that I won't give away, but I realized that Ben knows his One Eighteen. So I'm letting him do his thing,

I've always wanted to be involved in comic books, so this is a geek comes true situation. So anyway, if you're a comic-book artist looking to get your art in front of a thousand plus readers, send us a concept sketch at 118migration@gmail.com.

That goes for people who do production work. We're trying to farm out some fun projects like "snapshots" here and there. If you've got an idea, pitch it. Worst we can say is no, and we're actively seeking good material for our interim shows but really need to focus on writing the season in advance to minimize delays.

Finally, in terms of new material, I'm posting some microfiction that fills out little parts of the story that were just hinted at in our Facebook group "Kill Sarah Already" along with some extras and other things that don't really fit on the xbox, and it's a great place to bug us when we're slacking. Some examples of what you're missing

-Sarah's stepfather entered her bedroom, and she tried not to cry. She put in her earbuds and turned on Paradise Falls 61.3 FM, sliding the volume to the maximum. She felt her bedsheets rustle. The music changed as she felt his hand on her. The alarm clock read 1:20 AM. "Don't worry, you'll have your revenge," the radio whispered. "They'll all die soon." Sarah smiled. Outside, the gunshots started.-

-Willie Fetch flipped the beer bottle over and over in his hand, trying to catch it by the neck every time. One of Tarantino's movies played on the flat-screen. Valentine and the boys wandered down the stairs, trying to look non nonchalant. Fetch rolled his eyes. "Horace send you down?" "Yup," Valentine said lazily. "We're gonna wreck the play room," Fetch said, catching the bottle. "Yup," Valentine said.-

-"Here they come," Horace said, putting out his camel on the trunk of the Judas tree. The Valentine brothers shouldered their rifles. Ricky Benson did the same, but hesitantly. Horace picked up his Winchester, and made sure it was loaded. Below them, the line of the Greenly expedition passed. There would never be a better chance than this. "Let em have it boys," Horace said. The deputies opened fire.-

Finally, donations.we put that up on a lark and WOW... three in just a few days, and two were a bit upset that we don't offer higher amounts. That bothers me a bit. So I had an idea. For all the people who want to donate a few bucks more, I'll finish the choose your own adventure style one eighteen book I started but could not make work in public. (Ben, I just threw your art on there for test purposes, promise! Looks rad though!)

We'll charge ten bucks for it and get back around four. The people who want to tip can just buy a copy, we'll get a more sizable tip, and you'll at least get a cool keepsake and a fun little read that only donators get to read, but we can keep a clear conscience because it's something we can only do with an actual book (we tried, doing it in audio didn't make sense, but beyond that the story is fun.

So that's all the current news. Next week i''ll have Catywompus, my book of poems and short stories done and then I can dive into the rest of this stuff.
So thats it. We're taking this stuff as seriously as you are now, and we are going to make your patience worth your while.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

So I wrote this before I came up with the cigarette... I just stumbled upon it. But it's a fun what if.

What if Jeb Greenly found his balls and took out his own brother.

"Is it true?" Jeb asked, keeping the automatic pointed at Horrace. His hands were shaking but his eyes... his eyes were steady.

"Who do you think I did it for? Would you have had the fucking guts to do it? What had to be done?" Horrace asked, moving towards his brother. "Even now you think I need killing, and you can't do it. You NEED me. You've always needed me to get the bad shit done so you don't have to."

"What's going to happen when the crazies come? Or the dead things... or whatever comes next. You think I'm the worst person out in all this shit? One day men will come with guns and without someone like ME, they're going to take everything from you. This isn't Sunday School here little brother. This is the big bad fucking world and you can't handle it without me. You never could and you never will." He was less than ten feet from his brother now, eyes locked with Jebs.

"One more step, Horrace and I'll-" Jeb started but Horrace just laughed.

"You'll what? Shoot your own brother? Then what? Cowboy up? Do this shit yourself? Face it, without me you're NOTHING. You're LESS than nothing. Everything you have is because of me, everything you ARE is because of me. Without me you're just a scared little kid who can't wipe his own-" Jeb pulled the trigger and the bullet tore a chunk out of the pavement at Horace's feet. Horace stopped. The world was quiet. The deputies didn't move, rifles pointed at us, but they were nervous now. And the town was armed. Then Horace laughed, long and deep and mocking.

"Was that supposed to be my warning shot, little brother?" He asked.

"No, not a warning shot," Jeb whispered. The tears were streaming down his face now, the front of his shirt wet. His hands were shaking as he cocked the hammer back and took the gun in a two handed shooters grip. "I haven't fired a handgun in years, not since dad took us. Do you remember that? He used to take us to the range."

"I remember," Horace said taking another step closer to his brother.

"I was terrible a terrible shot. I still am. I missed. I love you Horace," Jeb said.

"I love you too little brother," Horace whispered. Jeb pulled the trigger, and Horace died. He was still weeping as he stood over the body and fired two more shots into Horace's head. Then he wiped his eyes with his shirt sleeves, and turned to the deputies, gun in hand and said in a voice that was less weakling and more man than I'd ever heard, "Drop your godamned guns. None of you are cops anymore. Horace is dead, Robert and Anthony are dead, Fetch is leaving. It's over. We're going to do this again and we're going to do it right this time. If you don't agree to that, I suspect you'll have to answer to them." He gestured to the crowd, and as the deputies turned they were greeted with the sight of guns. A LOT of guns. The town was armed, and every one of them looked ready to take their OWN survival into their hands now. The kids dropped the guns. Jeb turned to the crowd.

"I don't think it's safe out there," he said, "And I don't think it'll be safe for a good long time. But I'm not my brother. Any man woman or child who wants to try for Galviston, go with my blessing. But for the rest of you, I promise, in a year, or two, when these things have rotted down to nothing, we'll be safe. We'll go. You sure you arn't willing to stay, Jonas?" He asked. I looked at my friends and neighbors. Every one of them with a weapon, every one of them finally willing to step up and take their safety into their own hands. These people were going to be ok now. They didn't need me anymore.

"I have to see what's out there for myself. When we get there, we'll let them know you're surviving up here," I told him.

"Oh we'll be better than surviving. I think we're all tired of just surviving. Tell them we're living our lives up here. Maybe come back to visit some day?" He said, shaking my hand. I shrugged.

"I'll see what I can do," I said, smirking.

"Godspeed, Folks," He said.

"It's the only speed I go," Fetch said, honking the horn loudly, "So if you two queens are done making out."

Monday, April 5, 2010

OK, so if you're new, and want an outstanding self contained piece of entertainment, check out the Muse of Molly Malloy (here or just snag it from the webplayer.) This is fast becoming my favorite stand alone thing I ever wrote.

Sunday, April 4, 2010

OK, so my partner in crime "The Keeme" from Haggis Ain't Cake started the urban legend that Podcasting Superstar J.C. Hutchins is so Johnny-on-the-spot with his social networking/clones/googlealerts/freakishmagicalpowers that just mentioning his name anywhere on a blog will summon him. So let's try.

I SUMMON JC HUTCHINS TO THIS WEBPAGE IN THE NAME OF THE 7TH SON AND OTHER IMPORTANT KEYWORDS LIKE PODCAST, PODCASTING, SCIENCE FICTION, AND PARIS HILTON NIGHT VISION SEX VIDEOS!

(Spread this urban legend and try it in your twitters and facebooks, if it's not true, it will be funny as fuck the day he DOES bother to google his name, and he goes "What the fuck?!?!?!?!" because there are like a thousand of these)

So the nice thing about blogging is I can add these things in that don't really belong in a horror feed. This song isn't horror at all, it's from one of my poems adapted by Rad Bear, but it's a damn good song on it's own, so here's something else to look at.

In editing news, my last two voices will have to be cut but that's a good thing. Means now I can dive into SFX. This episode WILL be on the feed in the morning.

Still plugging away. If you're looking for something to do in the meantime, Prefaces and Asides has all of my fiction up there, and if you see anything you'd like LoopIT to produce for an interim show let me know. Also thank you to the three people who clicked ads, you bought us each a jolly rancher! (Wasamellonnnn!)

Good God, there are some seriously obvious changes in microphone in this one. I don't think it's too bothersome (I'm superpicky about my audio) but it's giving me the twitchies. Also, I'm like the worlds worst voice actor.

Listening to the MVT. Literally this is the worst and best possible day for a deadline since this is pretty much the only thing I can bring myself to do right now, but it's distracting as fuck :) But I'm on this. (MVT = main voice track)